The One With Unrequited Love
by Jana
Summary: Alternative Universe - He was her best friend... falling flat on her face in love wasn't part of the plan. Since when had love become so complicated?
1. Chapter 1

**The One With Unrequited Love**

By: Jana~

**Chapter One**

**XXX**

--She couldn't remember when the feelings first began, she could only remember when the realization first hit her, even though at the time, it was hazy and sketchy. It was almost sweet, in a sad sort of way. He had it for her bad. She'd never seen him so captivated. The book he'd spent days locating and a fortune purchasing just confirmed it. Chandler was in love with his roommate's girlfriend.

That was the moment Monica's view of him changed. Always friends, she was there for him while he lamented over his predicament, and while the full understanding of what her heart was trying to tell her was muddled, she was, at the very least, aware of how much she hurt for him. Life certainly wasn't fair, when it came to love; she'd had her share of anguish with it, that was for sure.

She was feeling like shit, but somehow, even though he wasn't sick with the latest strain of the common cold, he looked worse. Opening the door after the timid knock, revealed a depressed looking Chandler, pillow in hand, blanket wrapped around his shoulder… the absolute depiction of misery.

"Can I sleep on your couch?"

Instantly feeling a twinge of pain for him, she nodded abstractedly, her congested head reminding her within seconds of the stupidity of the movement. Ignoring that, she pushed her door shut as he stepped inside, then leaned into him as they both headed for the couch.

"Just let me get these snot rags cleaned up," she offered, parting from him and moving up ahead. "Last thing you need, is to catch this."

"If I was going to, I would have already," he returned with a shrug. "And… snot rags?" he questioned her with a slight lilt of humor. "What, did Kleenex go and change their name? Cause, I think they could've done better."

Masking his unwanted emotions was something he excelled at, but Monica recognized it easily for what it was. Only smirking in direct response, she hurriedly cleaned up the space around the couch and coffee table, then gestured for him to take a seat, joining him almost as he did.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked, knowing he did, but that she would have to drag it out of him. It was a dance that had become like a habit. When he shrugged, and looked down at his lap, Monica fought to hide a smile. Needling him gently, she ventured, "Sick of being so close to the parade route?"

With Joey, it **was** like a parade route. A revolving door of women, all one-night stands… though with Kathy, it seemed different. Maybe that was part of the problem. If Joey had discarded her like all the others, Chandler would then be free to ask her out. Since Joey didn't seem to be in any hurry to cut her loose, surprisingly, it meant she was forbidden fruit to Chandler.

"It's not the parade route itself," he answered, almost mumbling, "It's who's on parade."

Nodding her understanding, she suggested, "Maybe you should just, talk to Joey. Unless you're planning to live on my couch now," she added, hoping to pull a smile from him.

"I could pay rent," he offered, and though it sounded a little like he was going for a joke, she couldn't be certain, mostly because of the serious expression he continued to wear. "What's the going rate for riding the sofa now-a-days?"

Definitely a joke, but, a weak one, and she sighed in response. "You can stay here as long as you want, no charge," she told him, "But, c'mon, let's be realistic here! You have an apartment! And you should be able to sleep in it! If you tell him how you're feeling--"

"I **can't**!" he shot back, interrupting her. "I will seem like the biggest ass on the planet!"

"You won't," she insisted. "You can't help who you fall in love with--"

"In love?" he questioned, sounding just short of paranoid. "Who said I was in love?"

"Oh, come on," she half scoffed, "It's **so** obvious!"

Sighing, calming himself, then tipping sideways to lie down, he muttered, "To everyone but Joey," as he curled up into the fetal position.

She could hear it in his voice. What he didn't say was every bit as loud and clear as what he **did**. "You think Kathy knows?"

Nodding, he mumbled into the pillow he had just then buried his face into, "And I think she might feel the same way. But I don't think she's any more ok with hurting Joey than **I** am. Which just makes her all the greater, damnit!"

The twinge of jealousy was unexpected, and definitely unwanted. There was a moment where she tried to push the feeling aside, but she was unsuccessful. Instead, her mouth opened and the hand-tipping question popped out without her actual consent. "What's so great about her, anyway?" If he heard the underlying hurt in her tone, he didn't let on.

"Oh, just, **everything**," he answered, as if it was the only clear one to be given. "Besides being insanely hot," he elaborated, "She's funny, and smart, and loves Ernie Kovacs…"

"That equals love," she grumbled sarcastically, but quickly checked herself when he removed the pillow and looked over at her. Playing it off as if she meant it as a joke, she smirked, then shrugged, then offered sincerely, "There are a lot of women out there that fit that bill, Chandler."

"Maybe," he sighed, "But they're not feet away, in the room next to mine, moaning my roommates name in the throes of passion."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "You need to find someone who's **not** in the next room, moaning another man's name!"

The sound was worse than a thousand knives stabbing him, and the memory of it made him shudder visibly. Not just pain assaulted him, but guilt and shame as well. There was no way he could admit it to Monica, but, truth be told, he had actually become aroused, listening to his roommate and the woman of his dreams through the thin wall that separated their rooms. It was unintentional, but the physical reaction was unmistakable, and led him to conjure up images of a very impure nature.

Despicable as it was, he had been seconds away from reaching down to relieve the ache, her heavily embedded in his thoughts, when Kathy had called out Joey's name. It was like the equivalent of cold water being thrown at him, sobering him quickly, creating the need to flee his apartment and his almost-actions as fast as possible. He didn't even question where he'd go, he just stepped across the hall instinctively.

"Easier said than done, Mon," he replied, slightly irritated. "Everyone, at some time or another, has been in the room next to mine, moaning Joey's name!"

"Everyone?" she asked, suppressing a smirk. "You outing Joey now?"

"Everyone with breasts and a snatch then," he corrected shortly. "Better?" he asked rhetorically, arching an eyebrow when she laughed. "That's funny why?"

"Snatch," she repeated, answering him, her barely visible grin continuing as she shook her head lightly and pushed up to standing. "I think I'll make some tea. Want some?" she asked, shuffling on towards the kitchen before he even responded. He would say yes, for no other reason than because she offered. She knew him so well.

"Sure," he sighed, then, dropping his blanket on his vacated seat before moving to join her, asked, "Am I just the most pathetic person you know?"

"No," she answered at once. "And you're not pathetic," she assured him, then offered supportively, "Unrequited love just… sucks."

Nodding, leaning against the counter at the sink, he asked, "Ever happen to you?"

"I think it's pretty much happened to everyone, at some point, hasn't it?" She tossed him a reassuring smile, then leaned into and past him, to fill the kettle at the sink. The close proximity to him caused a reaction within her she was unprepared for. Her heart fluttered, and her stance turned awkward because of it. Of course he noticed. Her life, and these new feelings, weren't embarrassing enough.

"You ok?" he asked, showing genuine concern. "You're all… shaky."

"It's this stupid cold," she answered dismissively. "And Phoebe actually wants it back!" she added, trying for humor as a distraction. "She can have it," she muttered additionally, then slammed off the water and moved with the kettle towards the stove, needing space between them.

"It's not like she gave it to you on purpose," he mentioned, weakly defending their friend, confused by her sudden frustration.

Catching the meaning in his tone, she insisted, "I'm not angry, I'm just miserable."

"You and me, both," he said, sounding discouraged, stepping over to wrap her in a hug. "Different reasons why," he added, almost trailing off, then, pulling her into his arms, muttered, "At least rest and fluids will solve **your** problem."

"Yeah," she returned, as if in agreement. He had no idea, where her thoughts were. There was no way she could tell him, either. Rejection was a guarantee. She was simply a friend, and he was in love with someone else.

**XXX**

--The next two weeks did nothing in the way of improving things. Time didn't stop the feelings, as much as she tried to force it, and distance wasn't possible. He was around more than ever, spilling his woes, completely clueless to the ache she felt. Sometimes, when he looked at her just so, with those amazing blue eyes she had never truly noticed until recently, she wondered if he somehow knew. Had somehow caught on. A part of her wished he had, but then mortification would choke her, adrenalin would attack her, and she knew it was better that he hadn't.

This man was her friend. Telling him would only cause awkwardness, and quite possibly a rift between them that might not ever be repaired. It was too risky. The potential results were unthinkable. Thinking about it at all was dangerous.

Truth be told, not that she would ever admit it to another living soul, she had taken to fantasizing about him. At first, she forced those thoughts away, feeling a sense of shame for daydreams she viewed as inappropriate, but, the more the images entered her mind, the less she fought them. She had grown fond of the detailed scenes that played out behind closed eyelids, the long time absence of a boyfriend creating the need to self-satisfy. Then the fantasies expanded, becoming much more than just scenes of an intimate nature, conjured up when trying to release sexual tension. She imagined them in a relationship. Happily dating, going out to dinner, movies, plays. They would settle into each other's arms on a Saturday, watching TV and chatting about everything from important matters to the absurd, laughing at the latter and at inside jokes only the two of them would ever understand.

That was the dream, only now, it was like a nightmare, simply because it was unobtainable. Not only was he madly in love with another woman, but he saw her as nothing more than a friend. A special friend, maybe, but still just a friend. It would have to be enough.

The front door opening startled her, the previous thoughts dropping so abruptly it almost caused her a moment of confusion.

"Hey, Mon," Chandler muttered, dragging his body as if half lifeless towards her couch.

Concerned, she abandoned all chore-like activities and moved swiftly to join him. "You look… bad," she informed him, settling on the adjective hesitantly. Taking a seat beside him cautiously, she then asked, "What happened?"

"I kissed Kathy," he admitted, then buried his face in his hands, missing her gasp of shock as he added, "And Joey knows. And hates me."

"God," Monica whispered, her brain grasping to find the right words to say. Finally, for lack of better, she suggested, "Walk me through it. When did this happen? Who initiated it?"

"Last night," he answered, but then sighed heavily as he dropped his hands to his lap before adding, "I don't even know what happened! She was cutting my hair, her hands all up in it… God, she was just so close, ya'know? She said she had to leave, and she **did**, but, then she came back, cause she forgot her purse, and, I don't know… we just, threw ourselves at each other!"

Jealousy raged, but outwardly, she showed only support. "Ok, well, what's done is done, right? Let's talk damage control. What did Joey say when you told him?"

"He said I crossed the line," he answered, his tone, if possible, showing more pain than previously. "He said I was so far past it, it was like a dot in the distance."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you," she offered, drawing up what she hoped was the right conclusion. "He's hurt more than angry," she added, "I'd bet money on it."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he lamented, only daring to glance in her direction, shame over his actions preventing him from looking at her straight on. "I just, wasn't thinking," he added, and she nodded as she settled up against his side.

"I know," she sighed. "People make mistakes. **Joey** makes tons of them, when it comes to this stuff. He's **going to** forgive you, ok? He just… needs time."

Groaning, he shared, "I just want to go back in time. Go back and… Ugh! Just, stop myself from doing this totally! Stupid! Thing!" As he said the final three words, he slammed his hand against his forehead with each.

Monica grabbed him at the wrist, stopping the assault on himself, muttering a somewhat inaudible "Quit that," before asking carefully, "So, the situation with Joey aside… how-? Um… how was it? I mean, did you get this crush out of your system, or, did it make the feelings… stronger?" Dreading the answer, she held her breath while she awaited it.

"I'm in love with her, Mon." It came out in an almost whimper, and then he leaned in, to rest his forehead against her shoulder. When he exhaled shakily, her heart lost its rhythm.

How much hurt could a soul endure and remain whole? An unanswerable question, really, though she was about to test the theory. If they couldn't be together, then she wanted at least one of them to be happy. He had a shot at it, more so than she did. Encouraging him into the arms of another woman would be one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.

"Then, you should pursue it," she whispered, forcing her voice to sound stable and sure.

"How can I?" he asked, pulling away and staring intensely back at her, almost begging her to offer up a solution. "Joey will hate me," he added, silently asking with his expression for her to contradict what he had just said.

"He's not going to hate you," she assured him. "He loves you too much to hate you." When Chandler groaned and dropped his face back into his hands, Monica instinctively, almost motherly, slipped her hand up to caress his hair. "I didn't say that to guilt you," she insisted. "I said it prove a point."

"Point being that I suck?" he asked, his words muffled by his palms.

"Point being," she answered, "That he will love you always, cause he's your friend! He's gonna want you to be happy! And, if Kathy makes you happy…" She choked on the last word, but cleared her throat to cover it, then she pulled her hand away from him, whispering in conclusion, "Talk to Joey first, in a day or two, after he cools down, and then, you should… talk to Kathy."

There wasn't a part of that sentence that wasn't a struggle to say. While she couldn't imagine Joey hating Chandler, she honestly didn't know what his feeling were on the matter. And then, to tell the man she was essentially falling in love with, to go be with another woman… She felt like she was in hell.

"You actually think there's a chance that all this could end happily?" he asked, hopefully, his hands falling from his face; she knew what he wanted her to say, and she offered it up to him, simply because he did.

"Yeah," she whispered, cracking a strained smile back at him when a slight one twitched at the corners of his mouth. Then he pulled her into a hug, obviously grateful for the optimistic viewpoint, and she fought to keep an emotional distance as she felt his hands come to rest on the small of her back.

"Thank you," he whispered back, his breath warm against her. All she could do in response, was nod.

It was a lose/lose situation for her. If it all went according to his wishes, Chandler would be happy with Kathy, and Monica would be outside of where she wanted to be, watching the couple dote affection on each other whenever around her. If it all went to hell, Chandler and Joey's friendship would have a rift in it, Kathy would be out of the picture, and Chandler would be miserable because of both.

Unrequited love didn't just suck. It was devastating.

**To be continued**

Author's Note:

Ok… I'm back! Did you miss me?

Yeah, sorry about that… had a personal crisis I was busy dealing with, and didn't do much more than curl up in the fetal position on my couch and cry.

A very special thanks to my friends Kristy and Oliver, for seeing me through it! Luv you guys! (huggles)

To give credit where credit is due… Thanks to Oliver for your feedback, support, and ever-diligent nitpicking over my grammatical incorrectness (smirk), and to Kristy, for offering up this concept, helping me hone it, and for your constant assistance with writing it! I would be less of a writer, if it wasn't for you guys! I mean that sincerely.

I will **possibly** be reposting and continuing with the Mengliad sequel 'The One With The Registry's Secrets', but, I am still coping and dealing with things, so, it won't be for a while. Again, sorry.

This fic will not be 'epic'. Sorry. Most likely, five chapters, about the length of this first one, with an epilogue chapter as a sixth (chapter). I just, need to get some stuff out of my head, I guess.

Just an FYI here, but, my webpage is still active, and has lots of great stories on there by myself, Venused, and Exintaris, some of which cannot be found anywhere else! If interested, click on my name… when on my profile page, click on the homepage link. It's self explanatory from there.

If you're reading this story on my personal webpage, ignore all that (smirk).

K, guys… it's been a rough few weeks for me… could'ja maybe review and lift my spirits a little? Pretty please? I would be grateful.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	2. Chapter 2

**The One With Unrequited Love**

By: Jana~

**Chapter Two**

**XXX**

--It was only when the others weren't around, that she allowed herself to wallow. In front of them, she forced a smile, and somewhat chimed in on the various conversations, but doing so proved exhausting. She found herself wishing for them to just leave, so she could crawl into bed, under her covers, and go fetal as she cried over her rotten luck and severe loneliness.

It had been just over a month, since Chandler had first kissed Kathy, though to Monica, it seemed like longer ago than that. After spending Thanksgiving in a box, he had managed to convince Joey to forgive him, their friendship picking up where it had been previously, now showing no sign of discord at all. Meanwhile Chandler and Kathy's relationship blossomed and flourished, giving all who witnessed their love the strong sense that they might very well take it all the way. Marriage. A family.

Monica had hoped that in time, her feelings would diminish, giving her peace from the gutwrenching loss she felt, but if anything, the opposite became the reality. Pain, loneliness, and the pressure of hiding her emotions began to take its toll. Most days, it was all she could do to drag herself through necessary tasks at the restaurant, usually delegating them to others if at all possible. The kitchen staff and waiters hated her anyway. She didn't so much care if doing so gave them one more reason to.

Her shift had been a tiring one, her crew more uncooperative than usual. All she wanted to do, was fall onto the couch and let go the tears she had fought to keep inside for most of the day. She'd had a moment during her ten minute break, while in the bathroom, where she allowed the release of anguish in the form of crying, but then laughing happy customers came in to use the facility, and she gathered her composure quickly and left before the spectacle called their attention.

Home at last, and it was like a flood gate had opened. She collapsed face down, then drew her knees up to her chest, and began to sob. How could she feel such a desperate sense of loss and rejection, over something that never was? Over something that had never even been spoken? The unanswerable question didn't make the pain any less real. In her quietest moments alone, she could almost hear her heart breaking.

The sound of the front door opening jolted her, and she quickly righted herself, took a swipe at the tears that had fallen, and moved her body away from the approaching footsteps. Though she couldn't be certain, she was pretty sure it was Rachel, who had entered. She was either home early, or Monica had lost track of time. She cursed herself, for not paying closer attention.

"Mon? What's wrong?"

Rachel's voice sounded so concerned and caring, it almost started the tears flowing all over again, but she was able to successfully fight them off. "Nothing," she answered dismissively, "Just, a bad day at work."

"You're not usually this upset, when the jerks at the restaurant give you shit."

There was an inquisitiveness to her tone that Monica picked up on. Rachel's 'juicy news' detector was probably at full alert. Monica was going to be hard-pressed, getting her to back off. "They were giving me more shit than usual," she replied, her eyes remaining steady on the floor, just out of view from Rachel's sure-to-be-prying ones.

"Then, it's something else," Rachel announced assuredly, then asked, "Did you see Richard again or something?"

Startled, Monica questioned meekly, as she slowly lifted her gaze, "Why would you ask me that?"

Offering a tiny shrug, Rachel answered as she took a seat on the couch beside her, "I haven't seen you lose it this bad, since you two ended things, is all." Staring back for a moment, she then stated gently, "You look like death."

"I feel like death," Monica confirmed, sitting back against the cushions of the couch, her head resting uncomfortably there as she stared up at the ceiling.

Rachel nodded. "So, then, what's killing you?"

There was a part of her that wanted to tell her. She badly felt the need to get the thoughts out of her head, before they exploded within her, rendering her brain damaged. Logically, she knew that was impossible, but that's what it felt like. She needed a sounding board. Someone to help her sort things out. She needed a friend, and Rachel was, after all, that at least. They were so close, she was almost like a sister. If not for the demise of her relationship with Ross, she could have been… in-law.

"I don't know where to start," Monica admitted, and Rachel scooted up next to her after sighing, taking her hand gently in hers.

"Start wherever," she suggested, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.

Monica nodded, gathering her thoughts before speaking again. Downplaying it slightly, she began, "I'm crushing on someone. Hard. Bordering on falling in love with him, but, I can't have him."

"Why not?" Rachel asked, curiously but supportively, then guessed, "Is he married?"

Shaking her head in answer, Monica explained, "But I think they might be on the road to it."

"Ok, but, they're not married yet, right?" Rachel asked. "Maybe we could just, I don't know, get rid of her."

"No," Monica answered abruptly, again shaking her head. "I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't do that to **him**! He loves her **so** much, and I think she feels the same about him. I won't do that. I won't be that person! I won't fuck with what they have together!"

Rachel cocked an eyebrow at that use of cursing, then asked carefully, "It's Chandler, isn't it?"

Yanking her hand from Rachel's, Monica shifted positions to face her head on. "What makes you say that?"

"I've seen the way you look at him, Mon," Rachel answered, her expression filled with compassion. "It didn't really click before, but it's clicking now."

"God," Monica groaned, inwardly berating herself for not being more careful when around him. Suddenly alarmed, she asked, verging panic, "Do you think he knows?"

"I don't think so," Rachel offered reassuringly. "He is a guy after all, right?" she added, smirking slightly. "As a breed, they're pretty oblivious."

Despite the situation, Monica cracked a smile, then agreed, "Yeah, I suppose that's true." Within seconds, seriousness taking over once again, she asked, "What do I do?"

"What do you want to do?" Rachel asked in return, and Monica sighed heavily as she settled back against the cushions next to her.

"I want to get over this," she answered, new tears springing to life. "I want it to be like it was before. I want to feel only friendship for him, and be able to be around him without yearning."

"That's probably going to take some time," Rachel said sagely, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her close against her, comforting her.

Crying steadily onto Rachel's shoulder, Monica whispered, "I feel like I've lost everything."

Confused, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I can't have him as a boyfriend," Monica answered, "**And** I've lost him as a friend."

"How have you lost him as a friend?" Rachel wondered, posing the question softly.

"He's so busy with Kathy now, it's like I've been pushed aside," Monica explained, then added abruptly, "Which is how it **should** be! But, it still hurts."

"Well," Rachel offered reluctantly, "Maybe that's a good thing, ya'know? Maybe time away from him will help you get past this faster."

"I don't want time away from him," Monica countered, almost aggressively. "I don't hurt when I'm around him, I hurt when I'm **not**! I just, want to be important to him, ya'know? I want to matter to him. Even if I can't be with him in a romantic way, I want at least **something**. I want whatever he's willing to give me," she added, slightly calmer, "And willing to take **from** me."

"If it helps," Rachel told her, "I think you are. Important to him. He cares a lot about you," she insisted, "And I **know** he always will, even if he does marry Kathy."

"Why does love have to be so complicated?" Monica quietly whimpered, and Rachel held her tighter in response.

"I don't know," she answered, "But it seems to always be, huh?"

Nodding in agreement, Monica added, "In **so** many ways, I think he is **so** right for me, that we'd be **so** good together, but, it's like, I'm being robbed of the chance to find that out."

"I know, Hun," Rachel whispered consolingly, "I know. I've been there, remember? With Ross, when he was with Julie?"

"Yeah," Monica replied with a sniffle, "But in the end, you guys got together."

"And then crashed and burned in a flaming wreck of infidelity and mistrust," she reminded her. "Trust me," she added, "It's almost better **not** to go down that road with friends. Ross and I are fairly ok now, but, it took a **long** time!"

"I get what you're saying," Monica said, beginning to compose herself, "But, sorry, that doesn't really help, at the moment."

"Yeah," Rachel muttered, understanding of that, then suggested, "Hey, ya'know what might help? Chick flick, popcorn, and cookie dough straight from the tube! Ya'think?"

Nodding weakly against Rachel's shoulder first in answer, she then pulled back and offered a strained smile. "Thanks for not judging me."

Scowling, Rachel asked, "Why would I?"

"He's in a relationship, Rache," Monica explained, her tone self-deprecating, but that was all she said, looking to her friend to fill in the blank and respond.

"Ok…" Rachel drawled, then stated firmly, "You can't help who you fall in love with. Feelings aren't right or wrong, they're just feelings. Acting on them might be, depending on the circumstances, but feelings…" She trailed off, shrugging before pushing up off the couch. "You pick the flick, I pop the corn?" she asked, her tone lighter, and Monica smirked as she nodded.

As much as she appreciated Rachel's attempt to help, munchies and a movie were so not what Monica needed at that moment. She needed to curl up in a ball and avoid the daunting task of trying to be sociable. Even though Rachel was aware of the situation, she would want to see, and quite probably, expect to see Monica cheering up at least a little, as they engaged in the all-too-common ritual of trying to get over the guy. The whole thing seemed ludicrous to Monica now. She would never suggest it again, if Rachel or Phoebe were in her shoes in the future.

The smell of microwavable popcorn filled the apartment, and Monica sighed as she forced herself off the couch to choose a movie she knew she would only pretend to watch and enjoy. It was all so pointless. She'd never felt such despondency in all her life. She was seen as the strong one, and usually, she was, except for when it came to matters of the heart. With that, she was at her weakest and most vulnerable. She hated that about herself, but there seemed to be no way to stop it, the wave of despair with its strong undercurrent dragging her deeper, causing her to drown despite her efforts in fighting it.

A sappy love story would just push her over the edge of sanity. Bypassing those, she ultimately settled on 'Weekend At Bernie's'. Knowing it was Rachel's favorite, she doubted she'd argue over the choice. As soon as the movie was over – maybe even before it was, if Monica could swing it – she would complain of being tired and excuse herself to bed. There, she could be herself. There, she didn't have to pretend her world wasn't collapsing.

**XXX**

--Whoever said 'time heals all wounds' was a liar. Two long weeks had passed, and Monica felt every bit as depressed as she did from the start. Only now, it was starting to become noticeable. She was barely sleeping, hardly eating, and if that wasn't enough to draw attention, the lifelessness and solemn expression she exhibited daily, were. Her emotional state was getting harder to mask, and she was exhausted from trying, but whenever her friends or brother would ask her what was wrong, she would only offer a short 'work stuff', then walk away.

Obviously concerned, Chandler had approached her a few times, near begging her to just talk to him, and tell him what was wrong. She had been so tempted on more than one occasion, to just be out with it, but she refrained, fearful of the expected rejection. He seemed genuinely hurt, when she wouldn't confide in him, which just caused her further pain, as if her current anguish wasn't enough.

She was home alone, wallowing in that anguish, when the reason for it came staggering through the door.

"Slut!"

Monica bolted upright from her position on the couch, turned towards the outburst, eyed the man responsible for it, then asked with a smirk, "Me?"

"Kathy," Chandler replied, then wandered over unsteadily, and plopped down next to her heavily. She could smell the alcohol on him.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. He so obviously was.

"If by drunk you mean drunk, then, yes," he rambled, then shifted slightly to face her better. "I went over to Beefsteak Chulies--"

"Beefsteak Charlie's?" she asked, interrupting him; he blinked a few times in confusion, before nodding abstractedly. "Why?" she then asked, and he shrugged before replying.

"Why drunk or why Beefsteak's?" he asked in return, and she rolled her eyes before answering.

"Both," she said simply.

"Good a place as any," he slurred. "I wanted booze, they had booze."

The dance of dragging things out of him was in full swing. "Right, but, **why** did you want booze?" She was not expecting his answer.

"Kathy cheated on me." All the liquor in the world couldn't hide the hurt in his eyes. Monica's heart began to race, the extreme of it causing the sound to echo in her ears.

She asked the only question her clouded mind could find. "Are you sure?"

"I confronted her, and she didn't deny it!" he announced, almost angrily, but then he scowled back at her, as if confused. "Do I live here?"

"Seems like it sometimes," she muttered sarcastically, then patted his leg before moving to stand. "I'm gonna make you some coffee, ok? Wanna tell me what happened?" she asked as she headed for the kitchen.

Sighing, he shared, "Her costar is really hot! I swear, you can see his pecs through his overcoat!"

"And, that means she's cheating on you?" she asked, busying herself with the task of coffee making, to keep her mind off her racing thoughts. If Kathy was cheating on him, it would be over between them, right?

"Joey said!" he exclaimed. "Joey said, if they're hot on stage, they're not doin' it! But if they suck, they are! She **so** sucked tonight!"

"That's all you're basing this on?" she asked, masking her disappointment. Guilt raged, when she realized how much she wanted Kathy to be the slut he claimed her to be when he first entered.

"And she didn't deny it!" he added, seemingly irritated that she didn't immediately take his side.

"Well, ok," she said, rejoining him after the coffee had been started, sitting beside him once again, "What **did** she say? What did **you** say?"

As if struggling to remember, he leaned back against the cushions and stared up at her ceiling, frowning at it. "I told her there was no heat between her and Nick on stage, so, clearly you're sleeping with him."

Monica groaned at the stupidity of what he had said, then asked again, "And, what did she say?"

"She told me to call her when I grow up," he answered, then forcing his head up, he gazed over at her as he insisted defensively, "I'm a grown up!"

"I know," she agreed, somewhat placating him, "but you're also a guy."

"That's a bad thing?" he asked, scowling; he didn't seem offended so much as confused.

"Only when it comes to obliviousness," she replied, which just made his scowl deepen.

"I'm not oblivious," he muttered, his words still slurring slightly; Monica had to smirk at the irony.

"Look, Chandler," she told him seriously, though it pained her to do so, "You and Kathy, are good together. Don't blow this, because of stupid guy shit, ok?"

"But," he asked, "Didn't I already blow it?"

"Not necessarily," she answered. Smiling briefly at the lost look he was giving her, she guessed, "Kathy is probably pretty pissed, but, if you go over there tomorrow, and make nice – apologize! Then, she'll most likely forgive you."

"That's it?" he asked, shocked. "I just, go over and apologize? Then everything will be alright?"

The hopefulness in his expression brought a new pang of pain to her heart. He loved Kathy so much, which just confirmed what she already knew. He would never be hers. Struggling to hide her despair, she forced a smile and nodded.

"It should be," she answered, "But, you'll need to be sincere. Accusing her of that hurt her, Chandler," she explained, "And that's what you need to keep in mind, when you apologize for being a stupid, inconsiderate ass."

"Hey!" he complained, "Whose side are you on?"

Her smile turned genuine. "Yours. Always," she answered, "But I also know how you can get, especially when it comes to commitment."

Nodding, sighing, he then asked, "Why am I like this?"

"It's not just you," she assured him, "It's all guys. You're better than most," she added, laughing when he did. It was the first time in a long time that she had.

"Thanks," he muttered, somewhat jokingly, "I think."

Continuing with the lighter mood, she replied, "You're most welcome," then stood to get him a cup of coffee, to help sober him. He near immediately moved to follow her.

Hyper aware of his presence, she pushed her feelings deep as they would go, hoping that in doing so, she wouldn't make a fool of herself. Luckily, her inward reactions to being in such close proximity to him were invisible to all but herself. But, in certain moments, when their bond seemed strongest, she worried about slipping up and doing or saying something that would clue him in. She didn't want that. It would be wholly embarrassing, and completely devastating, to hear 'I just like you like a friend', which is exactly what his response would be, she had decided a while ago. Better not to even go there.

Adding cream and sugar, like she knew he liked it, she then handed the mug over to him, but he quickly set it down on the dining table, then smiled warmly at her as he gathered her into his arms. She stiffened slightly, but in his altered state, he didn't seem to notice.

"Thanks," he whispered, "For being such a good friend."

Swallowing turned difficult, but she choked it down, along with the lump in her throat, and nodded. "It's what I do best," she offered lamely, then rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the statement.

Laughing, he quipped, "And you always have to be the best."

"I don't have to be," she defended herself, part joking, "I just **am**."

"Right," he drawled, laughing again, then released her to snag his coffee off the table. "I'd like to return the favor," he added seriously, as he headed back for the couch, then asked, "Will you **please** tell me why you've been so down lately?" Before she could answer, knowing she would offer the typical response, he spouted, "And **don't** say 'work stuff'! I know better!"

Shrugging, sitting beside him once again, she muttered casually, "It's really no big deal."

The return look he gave her showed him to be disbelieving, but he didn't challenge her on it, much to her surprise and relief. Instead, he just mentioned, "Sure, fine, you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to, but the offer stands. If you need to talk about it," he added sincerely, "I'm here."

"Thanks," she whispered, fighting back tears. She couldn't cry in front of him. He would know for sure then that something was really wrong, and then probably pick at her in that sweet, annoying, genuine way he always did, until she gave up and spilled it all. The results would be catastrophic.

Seemingly distracted by his hot coffee, tipping it to his lips carefully to test the temperature before lowering it to blow on it some more, Monica took a moment to watch him discreetly. To notice little things previously overlooked due to a lack of interest. Like, he had a small circular scar above his left eye. It looked to her like a chicken pox scar, which gave her pause to wonder, how old was he when he had that particular, typically child-aged illness?

Thoughts of his past brought a memory to the forefront of her mind. There was a time, not so long ago, when he had pestered her for most of a weekend, trying to get her to agree with him, that he was 'boyfriend material'. She was only able to get him to stop, by assuring him that while she loved him, he would always be the guy who peed on her. Who knew jellyfish stings could hurt that much? And, for that matter, who knew peeing on the sting would relieve it? Joey, apparently, though Ross apparently did, too, which came to light when the embarrassing moment had been shared with the others, even though they had sworn an oath **not** to tell them.

They had judged them, made faces and sounds of disgust. Chandler had been so great, after they all had left, some hours later. He pulled her into his lap, while he sat on the oversized chair next to the couch, wrapped his arms around her waist, and offered reassuring words that his opinion of her, and his love for her, had not changed. That the others were just being stupid, and if any one of them had been in the same situation, they would've done the same thing.

Sighing, she admonished herself silently for not realizing her feelings for him sooner. The sound called Chandler's attention.

"What's up?" he asked, and she turned to face him, scowling questioningly. With a shrug, he said, "You're bumming again, I can tell. Still won't talk to me?" It was almost a plea.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted, and he sighed as he returned to his coffee.

More than just tempted to take him up on his offer, she had to force her mouth closed. As much as it pained her to do so, she was going to have to continue the charade. His happiness would be tainted, if she shared even a fraction of what her mind had come to constantly mull over.

There was no escape from it. Her thoughts refused to give her a moment's peace. She couldn't inflict that on him. She wouldn't.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Wow, guys, thanks for the warm welcome back, and for all the great reviews!

FuzzyDoor – Yes, this is AU, with a strong hint at canon.

I have reposted 'The One With The Registry's Secrets', and will continue it after this story is complete. I misspoke in the last author's note… this story will be three chapters, with an epilogue as a fourth.

As always, thanks to Kristy and Oliver for their support and help.

On my personal webpage… Exintaris has posted the final chapter of 'This is Nice', an awesome Mondler fic that you should, if a Mondler fan, **not** miss! And, hey, if you wander on over there and give it a read, why not email him and let him know your thoughts? Authors really appreciate your feedback, ya'know?

And, speaking of which (smirk)… please review!

MTLBYAKY


	3. Chapter 3

**The One With Unrequited Love**

By: Jana~

**Chapter Three**

**XXX**

--The knowledge of it had her on edge. He was over there, at that exact moment, mending his mistake, asking for forgiveness. She would of course accept his apology, because, bottom line, she was a nice person, and truly in love with him. Then they would probably get intimate, and…

Monica shuddered, immediately putting more effort into scrubbing the plate she had half submerged in the sink filled with soapy water. She was aware of Rachel exiting her room, but paid it little mind, her attention on the unnecessary task in front of her.

Initially only glancing in Monica's direction as she headed for the bathroom, Rachel stopped her trek when she noticed the tension in her friend's body and actions. Padding over slowly, when finally near enough to peer over her shoulder, she asked, "What did that plate ever do to you?"

Monica jumped at the question, and volume of it, though it was posed quietly, because of how close she was, which she was not expecting. "Shit, Rache! Little warning next time, before you go sneaking up on me, please!"

Laughing, Rachel muttered, "Sorry," then asked, "Why so tense?"

Back to the ever-diligent scrubbing, Monica asked, trying for casual, "Who says I'm tense?"

"Please," Rachel scoffed, gingerly pinching the edge of the plate that was visible above the suds, pulling it into full view as she announced, "The food particles are gone now! You have moved on to removing the pattern!"

"Just being thorough," Monica muttered, almost defensively, but then she quickly rinsed the plate she had been abusing and set it into the dish drainer. When she said nothing further, and essentially ignored Rachel's presence, Rachel huffed in slight exasperation.

"Mon!" she snipped, though kindly enough, "Spill it! What's up?"

Sighing, Monica answered, "Chandler is at Kathy's."

The lack of details beyond that simple statement brought Rachel back to irritated. "And…?" She drawled the one word question, hoping to encourage a response.

"He's apologizing, for being a guy last night," Monica offered, though somewhat reluctantly.

Laughing, Rachel asked, "Isn't he a guy **every** night? Was she just then figuring that out?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "Not for physically being a guy! For being an idiot!"

Surprisingly, Rachel grabbed a hand towel and started drying the buildup of dishes being stacked, asking as she moved to hang a mug on its correct-numbered hook, "Isn't that one and the same? Idiot and guy?" She laughed at her own joke, which just caused Monica to scoff and again roll her eyes.

"Pretty much, but, Chandler is different," she defended him. "He just… made a mistake," she added. Rachel shot her a knowing look, putting Monica on the defensive again. "What was **that** look for?"

"You have it for him **bad**!" Rachel announced, smirking as she shook her head, then, knowing an argument was possible, changed the subject, asking, "What idiot thing did he do?"

"He accused her of cheating," Monica answered, and Rachel got serious instantly.

"Pretty steep accusation," she mentioned. "Did he have any kind of proof?"

"Just lame guy shit Joey came up with," Monica answered, to which Rachel scoffed, and then chuckled softly.

"The blind leading the blind," she muttered, setting a plate up in the cupboard before grabbing a bowl, drying it as she wondered, "Why do guys have to panic, every time things get serious?"

"Well, with Chandler, it's because he's the product of a broken and… well, **weird** home," Monica assumed, shrugging, then added, carefully, "He's just insecure."

"You're just making excuses because you're crushing on him!" Rachel goaded her, unintentionally upsetting Monica with the ill-timed jab.

"Why don't you just post that on a billboard while you're at it?" Monica hissed, glancing towards the door. "Or maybe rent time on the big screen in Time's Square!" she added fairly hostilely; Rachel immediately turned apologetic.

"Sorry," she whispered, then changed the subject again, though slightly, by asking, "So, he went to Kathy's, and you're tense… why?"

"He was just so nervous, right before he left," Monica explained. "I'm just… wondering how it's going, is all," she added, causing Rachel to eye her for a moment before responding.

"And," she asked cautiously, "What outcome are we hoping for?"

"What do you mean?" Monica asked. Finishing the last of the dishes, she pulled the drain plug, then leaned against the counter and stared back at Rachel pointedly.

"Are we hoping for reconciliation, or… not?" Rachel asked, avoiding direct eye contact, instead pretending the drying of the bowl in her hands needed her undivided attention.

Sighing, dropping her gaze to the floor, Monica muttered, almost sheepishly, "Whichever Chandler is hoping for."

Rachel dropped her hands to her sides, the bowl in one, the towel in the other, a sympathetic expression finding its way onto her face. "God, Mon, you just must be in hell right now."

Pushing away from the counter, grabbing a towel of her own so that she could help Rachel in her task, Monica answered in a rather despondent tone, "That's pretty much the deal, yeah."

Sensing her depression deepening, Rachel cleared her throat, then stated in a semi-cheerful way, "Ya'know, when I first moved in, I thought Chandler had a thing for you."

Monica perked up at the revelation. "You did?" she asked, rhetorically, then added, acting as if she wasn't all that interested in the answer, "What made you think that?"

Rachel shrugged, playing along with the disinterested air Monica had initiated. "You guys just seemed to have some kind of, I don't know… special bond? He's definitely closer to you than he is the rest of us," she added, then quickly amended, "Well, with maybe the exception of Joey. But, that's different. That's a guy thing. Someone to go to sports games with, and ogle women on Baywatch with. With **you**," she theorized, "It's more… real. It's not superficial, ya'know?"

Agreeing, Monica gave the hint of a nod, then added, "I've told him stuff I've never told another human being, and I **know** he's told me stuff, too, that he's never shared before."

"You've told him things that you've never even told **me**?" Rachel asked, almost sounding hurt, but instead of offering assurances, Monica threw her an incredulous sideways glance.

"You're a gossip, Rache," Monica explained, "And there are some things I just **don't** want advertised!"

"Ok," Rachel conceded, though she didn't seem pleased about doing so, then pointed out, "I haven't said anything about your feelings for him, have I?"

"And I appreciate that," Monica sighed, wanting to avoid an argument, muttering a moment later, "There are just some things, I know I can tell him, and not be judged for it."

"You think I'd judge you on stuff?" This time, Rachel did sound hurt.

"It's not an insult," Monica insisted, but that did little to ease the scowl on Rachel's face. She hated that expression. Wanting to make nice, she assured her, "If it makes you feel any better, I've told you stuff I haven't told **him**." It did make her feel better, and the slight smile that tugged at her mouth confirmed it. "You're my best **girl** friend," Monica continued, "Chandler just happens to be my best **guy** friend."

"Fair enough," Rachel replied, moving past the moment by asking, "So, what happens if she forgives him? You're just gonna… say **nothing**?"

Monica nodded absolutely. "If I tell him, it'll just mess with his head, and possibly mess up our friendship."

"Fair enough," Rachel said again, then, after what seemed like a necessary pause, asked, "What if she **doesn't**?"

"I still say nothing," Monica answered sternly, as if confident of her decision, but Rachel could see through the façade.

"Really?" she asked, gaining her full attention by grabbing her wrist, stopping her from reaching for another dish. Monica became uneasy with the intense and questioning look on Rachel's face.

"It's for the best," Monica told her, shifting her eyes away, to anything else she could find to focus on.

"Says who?" Rachel questioned her, and Monica pulled her gaze up to meet hers, a somewhat shocked expression being returned, her tone matching and following.

"Says **you**!" she near snapped. "You used you and Ross as an example of how it's **so** not a good idea to cross that line with friends!"

Rachel scoffed. "Don't go by me and Ross!" she shot back, almost chuckling. "I know he's your brother and all, but, Ross is an idiot, ok? I mean, Chandler kinda is too, cause, well, he's a guy, and they all seem to have that same 'Guy's Guide To Being An Idiot' handbook, but still! Chandler isn't Ross and **you** are not **me**! We made mistakes," she added. "You could avoid them."

"Or we could crash and burn worse than you guys did!" Monica countered, then added after an exasperated sigh, "But it's not like it matters anyway, cause I'm not telling him! Ever! Rejection sucks," she added, calmer, "And I refuse to set myself up for that kind of pain."

Sighing, moving to grab another dish to dry from the drainer, Rachel said with all the seriousness in the world, "You're just **assuming** he's going to reject you."

Copying her actions, Monica snatched up a glass to dry, replying with a sort of angry despair, "My love life would read like a bad soap opera script. If **that's** any indication…" She trailed off, pushing past Rachel to situate the glass on the shelf; she was visibly shaking.

"God, I'm sorry," Rachel apologized, remorsefully quiet, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Monica pulled back abruptly, hiding the trembling of her hands by holding them close to her body. "You didn't upset me," she insisted, but Rachel wasn't buying it.

Her hands on her hips, her tone accusatory, she countered, "Then why are you shaking like a leaf?"

Scoffing, as if dismissing the allegation, Monica answered, "I'm not! I'm just--"

"You'll be happy to know, Kathy wasn't sleeping with her costar," Chandler announced, unknowingly interrupting Monica as he stepped through the door without knocking first, startling both her and Rachel as he did. His tone did not support the seemingly good news, and neither did his sluggish demeanor.

Monica instantly realized something was wrong, though so did Rachel. It was pretty obvious.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Rachel asked, sharing glances with Monica as Chandler dragged himself towards the couch.

"Sure," he muttered, adding after dropping his body onto the cushions, "Except, she is **now**."

"Oh, God," Monica whispered, moving quickly to join him, Rachel following, but more hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked, sitting across from him on the coffee table just after Monica sat beside him. "Did she admit to it?"

"She didn't have to," he said, heaving a heavy sigh, but offered nothing further, which just made Rachel impatient, and curious.

"What are you saying?" she asked, glancing at Monica, noticing how her brow furrowed and her eyes misted with unshed tears.

"I'm saying," he answered, almost shortly, "He was there! I'm telling you, she's a devil woman! I mean you think you know someone, and then they turn around and they sleep with Nick! Nick, with his rock hard pecs, and his giant man-nipples! I hate him! And I hate her! Well, I don't hate her, I love her. This is all my fault really," he added, turning the anger he felt towards his now-ex-girlfriend onto himself, his face crashing into his hands.

"This isn't your fault," Monica insisted, her hand slipping tentatively onto his knee, then asked, rhetorically, "How could this possibly be your fault?"

Even though Monica wasn't really expecting him to answer, he did all the same. "Because, I should've called! If I had just called her after our big, stupid fight, she never would've gone out with Nick, and they wouldn't've ended up in bed together. I threw her at his man nipples!"

Rachel added her hand to Chandler's other knee, and offered sagely, "Honey, this isn't your fault. Just because you guys had a fight, it doesn't justify her sleeping with someone."

That was obviously of little comfort. The idea was cemented. He'd messed everything up with his accusations and insecurities. Yesterday, he had an amazing girlfriend, now, he was miserable and alone. Suddenly, the thought hitting him hard, he turned and pulled Monica into his arms, seeking and desperate for comfort.

Initially, the abrupt action startled her, but quickly, as she realized what he was doing, and what he needed from her, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. Without having to look to confirm it, she knew Rachel was watching them. Monica shut her roommate out of her mind, focusing solely on Chandler, consoling him despite her own pain. They were so close, not even a sliver of space between them, and it made her heart ache, not only because that would forever be the extent of their physical relationship, but because of the emotional anguish he was in. Anguish she couldn't fix, no matter how firmly she held him in her arms, or how lovingly she stroked his hair.

The phone ringing unexpectedly caused Rachel to jump, but the sound of it didn't seem to reach Chandler and Monica at all. There was no way Monica was going to answer it, she knew; her friend was too wrapped up in the pain her and Chandler were both immersed in to care in the slightest.

"I got it," she informed, though she knew her words hadn't found either of them at all. She wasn't sure who she felt sorrier for. Sighing, she snagged the phone off the side table next to the couch and clicked it on. "Hello? – Speaking. – Sophie? – Ok, wait, calm down… – No, I sent it yesterday! – Well, Joanna is wrong! – Fine, I'll come back in then! But I know I sent them! – Yeah, ok, give me twenty minutes. – Bye."

She disconnected the call with a huff, then explained to Chandler and Monica, who were still wrapped in each other's arms, "I have to go back into the office. The nitwits in California are saying I never sent…" She trailed off when she realized, they weren't listening to her at all. "And… you don't care," she muttered sarcastically, heading then for her purse hanging on one of the hooks by the front door. "You'll see me when you see me, I guess," she added, sounding exasperated, but only because she was being accused of incompetence, and because she had to go back in to work after her long day, to defend her honor.

Leaving without another word, the room fell to hear-a-pin-drop silent. The shaky quality to his breathing told her he was fighting back tears, and her heart broke further. Without consciously making the decision to, Monica dropped her head slightly, then kissed his shoulder, very near the edge of his collar where his bare neck was visible. Her adrenalin raced at the slight intimacy of the contact, and in fear of his reaction, but he didn't seem to notice. At first.

It was so light a touch, he wasn't certain at first, but then he realized her hands were on his back, and deduced the rest. "Did you just kiss me?" he asked, sounding more curious than anything else, his voice quiet, pain very much present in it. Monica stiffened. Noticeably.

"No," she lied, falling silent when no other excuse seemed plausible. She just hoped and prayed he wouldn't press further. God doesn't always answer prayers.

"Felt like it," he mentioned, almost casually, making no attempt to break away.

Heart pounding, so loudly she could've sworn he'd be able to hear it, Monica hunted frantically for an explanation. Nothing was coming to mind, damnit! Verging panic, she blurted out the first thing that made sense.

"I had an itch! I was using your shirt to scratch it."

There was the slightest chuckle that came from him, before he quipped, "At least you weren't wiping your nose on me!"

The joke eased her tension. He seemed to buy her excuse, lame as it was, and she let out a soft sigh of relief before pushing out of his arms. They locked eyes for a moment, and she could see the tears that had threatened to fall, but never had.

"It's gonna be alright, ya'know," she assured him, and he nodded solemnly in return.

"It's gonna hurt like hell for a while," he replied, "But, yeah," he agreed, "I know."

Nodding slight, she asked, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Turn back time?" he half-joked, "And stop me from being stupid?"

"Honey, how far back did you want me to go?" she quipped, smirking at him, and he laughed in response, before the situation at hand came back to him. She noticed his smile drop, and dropped hers as well. "Ya'know," she offered seriously, "You shouldn't blame yourself for this. This might have happened eventually, anyway." The hurt expression he returned made her wish she hadn't just said that. Back-pedaling out of her poorly timed statement, she offered quickly, "Look, I'm not saying anything bad, ok? I liked Kathy! I really did, but, it's like Rachel said! You don't go cheating on your boyfriend, just because he said something…!" She halted abruptly, then added in a calmer, almost timid tone, "Insensitive."

"I guess," he said with a shrug, looking away as he sighed, then added, disheartened, "I just suck at this, which is what it all comes down to. I should stop trying."

"You shouldn't," she insisted gently, "You just need to find the right woman. One who gets that you have commitment issues, and get weird from time to time." She stopped herself from adding, 'someone like me.'

At this, Chandler scoffed, then returned almost bitterly, "Good luck to me, then! Women are picky!"

It was Monica's turn to scoff. "And men **aren't**?"

They stared back at each other for several moments, until they both started laughing.

"Guess one isn't any better than the other, really," he offered, "Huh?"

"Guess not," she agreed, joining him as he settled back against the cushions. Wanting to avoid spilling her feelings, somewhat desperate to move him past the sadness he was exhibiting once again in the wake of their brief laughter, she asked, "You know what you need?"

"To get drunk," he answered immediately, cocking an eyebrow when she glared over at him. "No?" he asked off her mock-scolding expression.

"No," she repeated in answer, then suggested, "You need ice cream."

"None of that soy crap," he returned in acceptance, then quipped as he moved to follow her into the kitchen, "You're trying to turn me into a woman."

"How so?" she asked, and he chuckled slightly.

"The eating ice cream thing, while we lament over our failed love lives," he explained. "It's such a girly thing to do!"

"Ok, well, what do **guys** do, when in this situation?" she questioned him as she showed off the ice cream choices; he poked the container of Rocky Road.

"Go to strip clubs and get drunk!" he answered, his tone implying that she should have already known that.

"Yeah," she replied with a touch of sarcasm, "We won't be doing that."

"Pity," he said with a well hidden smirk. "Seeing you slip dollar bills into some scantily clad woman's G-string would **definitely** do me some good." He laughed when she thrust the pint container of ice cream and spoon at him with an indignant scowl on her face.

"I'm willing to help any way I can," she said, turning sharply away from him and stepping back towards the couch, "But I am **not** adding to your sick male fantasies," she added, grinning when he laughed again, though he couldn't see her do so from his position of behind her.

"Not so sick," he defended with a good-natured lilt, then plopped down next to her, back on the couch, before asking, "You got any?"

"Any what?" she asked, feigning ignorance. She knew very well what he was asking.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, "Fantasies."

It was the perfect opening, but she knew she couldn't take it. His mood was light at the moment, but depression over Kathy was looming just beneath the surface. "Of course," she replied vaguely instead.

When she offered nothing further, he laughed, then tugged the lid off his pint container, tossed it to the coffee table, and dug his spoon into the ice cream, all before asking, "And… they are?"

"Wouldn't **you** like to know!" she shot back jokingly, starting in on her own pint of ice cream.

He laughed again, but then his demeanor took on a sort of kind seriousness. "I would, actually," he admitted, gaining her full attention.

He was avoiding eye contact, but she continued to stare over at him anyway, watching as he diligently fished a marshmallow out of the chocolate.

"Why?" she finally asked, and he shrugged in answer.

"Just curious," he said, then almost triumphantly gobbled his prize off his spoon.

"Not so sure my fantasies would be of interest to you," she said carefully, still attempting to dodge the subject. "I think men and woman fantasize about very different things," she added, and he smirked over at her.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed. "I can't imagine you would fantasize about **most** of the things **I** fantasize about."

"Let me guess," she offered jokingly, "You, Drew Barrymore, and Chloe from the Xerox place."

"Chloe is a spazz," he answered, shaking his head, "And after the whole fiasco with her and Ross… Rachel would castrate me. That is the absolute opposite of a fantasy," he quipped in a serious, almost pained tone. "And… Drew Barrymore…" He shrugged as he trailed off, implying she wasn't someone he had strong opinions about, one way or another.

"I'm curious now," she admitted reluctantly, "But," she added, "I'm worried it might traumatize me."

Laughing, he asked, "How much of a perv do you take me for?"

"I don't," she assured him, giving her ice cream newfound attention. "Just, you hear things, ya'know? About how typical men fantasize."

"Well, maybe I'm not typical then," he suggested, then told her honestly, "I don't think my fantasies are all that bizarre, but, maybe a woman would see it differently."

There was something in the way he had said that. To be sure she understood things correctly, she asked, "You want a woman's opinion?"

"Kinda," he answered, "But not if you don't want to hear it. Wouldn't want to traumatize you," he teased, smirking as he took another bite of his frozen solace.

Considering this for a moment, she then asked, "Would **I** have to share, if you told me yours?"

"Not if you don't want to," he said with a shake of his head. "Are **yours** perverted?" he asked, slight excitement in his voice; she threw him a joking glare in response.

"No!" she insisted, "They're just…" Trailing off, looking away, she gave thought to how she should finish that sentence. It wasn't like she could say '…of **you**'. The silence had dragged on for too long. She could feel his eyes boring into her, questioning her. Flustered, she blurted out, "Embarrassing."

"Oh, please," he countered, "We've shared intimate stuff before! You can tell me!" he needled, though kindly, then gently nudged her with his shoulder.

Relenting, she told him, "You first."

"Well," he began, dropping his spoon into the container and setting it aside, on the coffee table next to its lid, "Basically, it's a sex in a public place, kind of thing." When she looked back at him incredulously, he hastily continued, before he lost his nerve to. "I imagine me and some hot woman – Kathy, more recently – doing it on the couch in Central Perk."

Even with the mention of Kathy's name, her heart sped up at the personal disclosure. "Yeah?" Her tone denoted an encouragement for him to share further, more so than she had intended, which he obviously picked up on, judging by his return expression.

Emboldened by her interest, he sat a little taller, crossed his legs, and turned slightly to face her. "The place is closed," he went on, "Or at least, deader than disco music," he added humorously, "And we're making out… you know, kissing, hands everywhere, kind of thing. Anyway, we just decide to go for it, since, you know, no one is around or whatever. But, still, adrenalin is flying, cause we know we could easily get caught…" He stopped there, trailing off, then shrugged as he added, "I don't think I'd ever be brave enough to do that, but, it's a great image."

She whole-heartedly agreed, taking in a shaky breath to settle herself before responding. "I think a lot of people have fantasies like that," she said, then quickly amended it by adding, "That they would never actually do, I mean."

"Probably," he agreed, asking after a brief pause, "Is it weird? From a female point of view?"

"No," she assured him. "It's actually fairly tame, in comparison to some of the ones I've heard that men have."

"Then, I didn't traumatize you," he teased, to which she shook her head and laughed. "Good," he said, then announced rather excitedly, "Your turn!"

A feeling of dread bombarded her. This was very dangerous territory. Deciding that vague and to the point was the best way to go, she stated simply, "Sex in the shower."

His interest piqued. "Yeah?" he asked, his smile widening. "Ever done it?"

"No," she answered, her cheeks reddening, "Which is why it's a fantasy."

Nodding, he then asked, "With anyone in particular?"

It was like the temperature shot up in the room by at least ten degrees. Willing her voice to normalcy, she answered in a near-whisper, "Not really." When he arched an eyebrow back at her, she knew she was in trouble.

"You're lying," he said as a matter of fact, his intense stare remaining on her, as if trying to determine something. "Who is it?" he finally asked. "Someone I know?"

Attempting to throw him off course, she answered, "Rachel." He nearly choked to death on his own spit.

"Are you serious?!" he asked, in complete shock; his reaction caused her façade to break near instantly.

"No," she answered, "I'm yanking you."

He almost seemed disappointed. "Ok, so, then, who?" he asked again.

"It doesn't matter," she answered, her smile dropping, looking away and into her pint container as she picked at the caramel swirl within it.

"Why doesn't it matter?" he pressed, showing slight concern, which just served to set her further on edge.

"Because," she replied, "It's never going to happen." The inner struggle not to just tell him was rapidly becoming a losing battle. No good would come from telling him. She had to stay firm on that.

"Doesn't know you're alive, huh?" he ventured, but she shook her head in answer.

"He knows I'm alive," she explained, "He just only sees me as… **there**."

Out of her peripheral vision, she could see his expression change, and fear choked her as she was sure he had somehow figured out her feelings. But his next question, and the tone used in asking it, indicated otherwise.

"Is this why you've been so bummed out lately?"

Desperate to move away from the subject, she physically moved to pluck his neglected ice cream off the coffee table where he had before set it. "Sorta," she answered, then quickly asked, "You done with this?" Without waiting for his reply, she snatched it up and headed for the refrigerator with it. He followed.

"Guess so," he semi-quipped, since she was putting it away, asking as he inched up behind her, "Did I upset you or something? Cause I didn't mean to, if I did."

"I'm fine," she insisted, somewhat defensively, effectively proving she wasn't. "I was just putting the ice cream away," she added, evening her tone, but Chandler clearly didn't believe her.

"Oh, c'mon!" he scoffed, "You nearly **bolted** off the couch and **ran** in here!"

She spun around after closing the freezer door, nearly falling into him before correcting her balance, saving herself from embarrassingly doing so. Flustered, she shot back, "I didn't bolt and run!"

Tension soared, but it was Monica alone who was so. Chandler just seemed taken aback. "What's with you lately? Seems like every time I've tried to talk to you lately, you end up pissed at me."

Sighing, looking guiltily to the floor, she said softly, "I'm not pissed. I'm sorry I snapped at you," she then apologized, adding, "I'm just… I've got a lot on my mind."

"So, talk to me about it," he requested, exhaling sharply when she shook her head. "Fine," he muttered shortly, dropping his gaze to the floor as well, tucking his hands in his pockets as he did. "I'll leave you to your thoughts then," he offered, then informed the hardwood beneath their feet, "I'm just gonna get into some comfy sweatpants, climb into bed, and wallow over my failed relationship."

Almost as soon as he'd said it, he headed for the door, but stopped short of leaving when she called out his name. He didn't turn to face her, but she continued anyway.

"I really am sorry about Kathy."

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding, then mumbled a quick 'thanks', before disappearing out the door.

Alone in her apartment once again, Monica stared at the door he had just left through for several moments, tears pooling then falling, causing her surroundings to blur and distort. She was making a mess of things with Chandler, with her unpredictable mood swings, all because she didn't trust herself to confide in him, even in generalities. Knowing she would likely slip up and say too much caused her to panic whenever he would simply ask her to share, that fear coming out as anger. If she wasn't careful, she was going to ruin everything. Their friendship would likely continue, but it would lose something, and never quite be the same again.

The decision was made, as she padded towards her room. She would need to fool them all, or the others would talk, and he would know she was just pretending to be ok. As exhausting as it would undoubtedly be, she had no other choice, if she didn't want to lose him. Starting tomorrow, she would put on the face. To all who knew her, 'happy Monica' was about to reappear.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, this chapter just… got away from me. It's almost double in size of the first two chapters, and I still didn't cover everything I had planned to. So, because of that, this story will likely be five chapters, instead of four.

Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes, in reviews and by email. I'm doing a bit better now.

As always, thanks to Kristy, my beta reader, and Oliver, my reality checker, for making me look good! Love you guys! (huggles)

If anyone is interested… I created a new video for YouTube. It's a video of my family at various Christmases throughout the years, set to music from the movie 'Polar Express', song: "When Christmas Comes To Town". If you wanna check that out, do a search for username: Janaonwheels.

Please review!

Happy holidays, and MTLBYAKY


	4. Chapter 4

**The One With Unrequited Love**

By: Jana~

**Chapter Four**

**XXX**

--In the weeks that followed, Monica became a master at hiding her true emotions. Even Phoebe, who seemed to have a knack for seeing what most people couldn't, didn't appear to have a clue as to Monica's true state.

Of course, making herself scarce most days helped in continuing the act. If they weren't around her, they couldn't catch on. The only person within their group who saw her with any regularity, was Rachel, but that was only because they were roommates, and even so, the contact was mostly limited to pleasantries exchanged as Monica came and went from work, and to and from the bathroom.

Rachel did manage to pin her down once, figuratively speaking, and somewhat insist they chat about things like they used to, before she had presumably gotten so busy, but Monica was able to skirt all major topics, including the subject of Chandler. Much to Monica's surprise, Rachel completely bought the excuse that the restaurant had simply become more demanding of her time, and released her from any further discussion when she faked a yawn and begged off to bed.

Chandler also seemed to buy into her façade, but, then again, he had his own problems. Getting over Kathy was no easy task for him. He spent every day he wasn't at work, moping around in his sweatpants, refusing to do much more than lay about the house. Dragging him down to the coffeehouse took major convincing and near-about brute force by Joey, who had become so concerned about his friend, that he often cancelled scheduled auditions, just so he could be there in case Chandler was set to advance to stage two. No way was he going to miss out on going to strip clubs!

The day that finally happened, was the day everything changed. Monica had been cleaning the apartment vigorously, trying to keep her mind off her growing need to unburden the weight that was slowly crushing her, day by miserable day. The uncertainty of the outcome was the only thing holding her back. That, and Chandler's obvious depression. It was definitely a bad time to dump something so heavy on him, but she felt as if her heart was festering and rotting within her, under the pressure of keeping it to herself. To her, it seemed the only way to release her anguish, but the words with which to tell him evaded her. A thousand possibilities swam in her head, but all were as lame as the versions before them.

And the damn oven refused to get 'Monica clean'! She was half in/half out of it, scrubbing as if her life depended on it, when Chandler's voice rang out above the sound of steel wool on metal surface.

"Don't do it! You have so much to live for!"

Smirking at what she knew was his attempt at a joke, she pulled out and turned to face him, still on her knees, then shot back sarcastically, "Ha, ha. Very funny." It was then that she noticed. "Hey! You're out of your sweatpants!"

He glanced down at his khaki slacks, then smiled back at her, before pointing a finger and stating, "We've switched places then, it seems."

"Yeah, well," she muttered as she shrugged, adding as she moved to stand, "Not about to clean the oven in evening wear, ya'know?"

Quirking an eyebrow, he teased, "A sight to see, but not very practical."

"Two jokes in about a minute's time?" she asked with the hint of a grin. "You seem to be doing better."

"Yeah," he answered casually, strolling towards her fridge, "I feel pretty good, actually."

"Finally achieved phase two, then?" she asked, and he chuckled as he nodded, then snagged a bottled water before turning to face her.

"Yep! Just waiting on Joey to get back," he replied, but that only brought a confused scowl to her face.

"Get back from…?" she drawled, waiting with patience as he took a long drink first before answering.

Recapping the bottle, he answered, "He's filming that movie today, with Charlton Heston. But after **that**…!" He paused, then announced enthusiastically, "Strip club! Phase two isn't even phase two, without **that**!"

Her scowl dropping, she rolled her eyes, then reminded him, as if he was unaware, as she yanked her rubber gloves off, "It's nine thirty in the morning."

"They have a breakfast buffet," he countered with a shrug.

"Which consists of donuts and cocktail olives?" she quipped, her hidden smirk growing when he laughed.

"Something like that," he muttered, then headed for the couch as he asked of her, "Mind if I hang here for a bit? Knowing Joey, he's gonna be a while. He didn't even have his lines memorized, and he was nervous as all hell," he added, shaking his head before dropping himself onto the cushioned seat. There was no hesitation; he knew what her answer would be.

Moving to join him, she asked in an almost mocking, or disbelieving tone, "Explain to me now, how seeing naked strippers helps you get over Kathy?"

"Distraction, for one," he said with a shrug. "Keeps my mind off things."

"That's cause all the blood is rushing away from your brain," she quipped. He smirked back, but then gained seriousness.

"It also helps me to imagine myself with other women."

"Imagining yourself with a stripper… hardly a healthy image of a healthy relationship," she countered.

Half scoffing, half laughing, as if she had missed the point entirely, he replied, "Who says I'm looking for healthy? Or a relationship?"

That was fear and heartache talking, and she knew it, so she decided to approach the subject from a different angle. "Ok, so, you're just looking for a fling? Just sex? Cause, ya'know, most women don't like that. Contrary to what Joey thinks," she added with a roll of her eyes.

"Most women don't go for me," he muttered, sounding rather frustrated and slightly disheartened. "Most women think I'm a joke. Maybe Joey has it right," he added with a heavy sigh. "Maybe flings are the way to go. Flings are short by definition. In and out before I have the chance to fuck it up and drive them away."

"You're not like that, Chandler," she gently scolded. "You're not like Joey! You couldn't do that. You couldn't be that way, and you know it. Remember Aurora?" she asked, reminding him of the relationship he broke off, because all he was to the woman was a sex toy. One of many, actually, which he found increasingly difficult to handle as the relationship with her dragged on.

"Yeah, that was messed up," he conceded, taking another long drink of his water before adding, "Seems I'm not suited for any kind of relationship."

"That's just a little bit stupid," she chided, though her tone was mostly serious. "The match-ups just haven't been right, is all. Doesn't mean they'll never be right, just cause it hasn't happened yet."

Shrugging, he muttered, "Yeah, maybe. Doesn't seem like it ever will, though. Not that I was expecting a walk down the aisle anytime soon," he amended his wishes, "But, ya'know, something a little serious is kinda where I want to be in my life right now."

"That's totally doable," she assured him, sitting a little taller, adding without thinking her words through, "You just need to find the right woman! Someone who is looking for the same thing. Someone who is generous, a good listener--"

"Beautiful," he interjected, adding, "Though that's probably too much to ask for."

Smirking, she told him, "I don't think that's too much to ask for. Why would you think that?"

"I'm not exactly Brad Pitt," he replied, sighing, as if he was absolutely certain he was unattractive.

"Why would you wanna be?" she asked. "He's just a pretty boy whose attractiveness has been hyped by publicity." When he shot her a disbelieving sideways glance, she added in response, "It's true! All hype, no substance. You," she insisted, "Are a far better catch than you give yourself credit for! You just need to find someone who understands you. Who will be there for you."

"Ok," he recounted, summing things up as he ticked off qualities on his fingers, "She needs to be beautiful, a good listener, generous, wants what I want, and who gets me and is there for me." With something like a laugh, he added, "Sounds like **you**!"

Her heart stopped, then lurched back to life, pounding harder than it ever had before. Nervously, she near-whispered, "Would that be so bad?"

"No! Of course not!" he answered, oblivious to the hidden meaning in her question. "I didn't mean to imply it was **bad**! Just was saying, the woman you were describing, sounds a bit like you, is all."

"I guess," she sighed, masking her frustration. He wasn't going to make it easy on her, that was clear to see. If he would just get a clue, and catch what she was trying to convey, she wouldn't have to say the actual words. Then, if he didn't feel the same way, she could claim he misunderstood. Force a laugh and call him silly. That way was far less humiliating. But, it seemed humiliation was imminent. If she wanted him to know, she was going to have to put everything on the line and tell him.

As unappealing as that thought was, she knew she wasn't going to be able to go one more day, with the burden of keeping it secret. She had to release it. Had to know if he thought they had any kind of shot in hell.

Still trying for a subtle confession, she asked, "So, you don't think I'm a horrible catch? I mean, you would want me?" she added, forcing her voice to sound as normal as she could, amid her chaotic emotions and fear.

"Well, sure," he replied, though he seemed almost uneasy with the question, and his own answer. Then he added, "Who wouldn't?" and with it, Monica found the opening she needed.

"Lots of guys, apparently," she muttered insecurely. And it seemed the truth, as far as she was concerned.

"All idiots," he returned with a supportive smile. "The only reason you don't have a boyfriend, is for the same reason you said before. The match ups just haven't been right."

Tipping her hand further, hoping to spot a glimmer of understanding from him, she said, "So, we're both sitting here with the same problem. Matchless."

The implication was clear, yet he still didn't seem to pick up on it. "Guess so," he sighed, shrugging, then uncapped his bottled water again and took a swig, seemingly unaware of what she was saying or going through.

It felt like every nerve ending in her body was raw, sensitive to everything about him in that moment. Even the air around them seemed different. She felt like she couldn't breathe, the subsequent lack of oxygen making her more lightheaded than previously, adding to the surreality of the situation. Even if she was rejected, the sting of that had to be better than the hell she'd been immersed in. That was the driving force responsible for the blurted admission that followed.

Everything about her was shaky. Her sigh, her hands, her tone of voice as she finally said the words that would quite probably, almost definitely, change everything between them, one way or another.

"Chandler." She whispered his name, gaining his attention first, then tapped into her courage through sheer will before announcing, with all the uncertainty she was feeling, "I'm in love with you."

**To be continued**

Author's Note:

Sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter out. Life is harsh. Issues including, but not limited to: emotional and mental anguish, leaks in the drains under the house, broken shower, major issues involving my son's mental disabilities, the possibility of losing, or having frozen for 30 days, my disability benefits, yada, etc, and so forth.

Sorry this chapter is so short.

One more chapter after this. Then, I'm going to **try** to get back to writing 'The One With The Registry's Secrets', which is the sequel to 'The One With The Mengliad', for those who don't know.

On my site, on Exintaris' page, is a new story entitled 'The One They Never Told Anyone About'… Mondler story, but extreme NC-17, so, if such stories upset you, this one isn't for you. If you like such stories… give it a read! You won't be disappointed! Mind the ratings and warnings, please.

Special thanks to Kristy and Oliver, my beta readers, for all their help, support, and suggestions. Luv and huggles, guys!

"There is not much left of me  
Nothing is real but pain now

Hold my breath as I wish for death  
Oh please God, wake me"

Lyrics from the song: 'One', by Metallica. (shrug) Fits my mood.

Please review, and MTLBYAKY


	5. Chapter 5

**The One With Unrequited Love**

By: Jana~

**Chapter Five**

**XXX**

--It was going to be a long flight. Monica was excited about going to London, having never been before, but the seating arrangements on the plane were changed at the last minute, which just added to her anxieties. She had always been a nervous flyer, but then Joey started whining, begging to be seated next to Ross so that they could continue some conversation about the British royal family, and that left Monica seated next to Chandler. They shared uneasy smiles, and then Chandler shrugged, leaving the decision to her, essentially, before she finally agreed.

Things had been awkward between them, to say the least, though they seemed to be past the extreme of it. They continued on as friends, after she had made her confession of feelings, but it was initially strained. She blamed herself for that. She had put him in a surreal position, one that he obviously wasn't prepared to deal with. At least at the time.

He shot her down as gently as he could, telling her he loved her, but like a friend, and that she would always be special to him… like that would soften the blow. When she started to cry, from embarrassment as much as heartache, he gathered her into his arms and apologized. It felt like pity, which she had hated at the time, but replaying the moment in her head a thousand times since, she had come to appreciate the gesture.

Then he suggested that it was probably just a crush, and in an effort to save face, she agreed with a forced smile, shaking her head and muttering something about being boyfriendless since Pete. She was just lonely. She latched onto these feelings about him because he was sweet, and her closest friend aside from Rachel. But that wasn't the truth. Whether he realized that or not was unclear, but she didn't press the matter. Knowing wouldn't help, anyway.

It was not mentioned again after that day, and they went on as they always had, though they had to force it a bit at first. There were odd looks at times, and tension when they were seated a little too close to one another, like at the coffeehouse, or when they were all gathered at her apartment, but that slowly ebbed as the weeks ticked on.

All the hoopla surrounding Ross' whirlwind engagement helped things, oddly enough. It was all anyone could talk about, and that bridged a gap of sorts, giving them endless subject matter when things turned strange during awkward silences. However, even with the headway being made in regaining their previous level of friendship, Monica still felt uncomfortable when in close proximity to him. Her heart would race, and ache to be with him, and she found herself avoiding such occasions as often as she could, to save herself from slipping up and doing or saying something foolish.

She was usually successful with this, only now, it was inescapable. Just simply hemming and hawing over the idea of sitting next to Chandler on the flight brought raised eyebrows from her brother and a whined, 'But why can't we just switch seats?' from Joey. Feeling trapped, unable to present a logical explanation, she just muttered something dismissive and agreed.

Stuck on a six hour flight, with Chandler virtually in her hip pocket. No way to get out of it without drawing unwanted attention. No way to deal with the adrenalin rush, short of ignoring it. She couldn't even use work as an excuse, which she had become used to doing whenever things shifted from strained to unbearable. Though, really, it wasn't exactly an excuse.

Throwing herself into her work had become a sort of therapy. It offered a distraction, and made her feel useful. It offered a way out, and not just with Chandler, but with Rachel and Phoebe as well. Since Rachel was already aware of Monica's feelings, she was quick to catch the tension between her and Chandler, but Monica insisted she was crazy, and that nothing had changed, and then created reasons to leave and avoid. Phoebe didn't know anything beyond what she could sense, so Monica found it easier to redirect her off the topic. If they ever broached the subject with Chandler, they didn't say, and neither did Chandler, though she didn't figure he would, even if they had.

He seemed to word things carefully around her, especially at first, skirting words like 'relationship' and 'love', like they carried highly infectious diseases, creating the possibility of catching something just by uttering them. Following his lead, desperate to keep him in her life, they latched onto benign topics of conversation, like work, the weather, TV shows they liked or disliked, and of course, Ross' wedding.

They were all careful with what they said around Rachel, since she seemed to take the news hard, but when alone, and struggling to find something to say to one another, the subject often came up. They both thought it was too fast, not only the proposal, but setting the wedding date a mere few weeks later as well. Still, Ross seemed happy, more so than he had been in a long while, so they kept those opinions to themselves, not wanting to sully his joy.

That emotion was obvious as Ross chattered excitedly with Joey, sharing all he knew about the British royal family, which was, apparently, a lot, though he seemed to be dumbing things down a bit for their sometimes-dense friend's benefit. Chandler and Monica glanced at each other and smirked, but then that awkward air resurfaced, and they looked away and towards the front, only pretending to listen as the flight attendant explained emergency procedures in case of a crash.

Once the plane was in the air and the seatbelts sign was turned off, Monica fought the urge to leave her seat and hide out elsewhere. But where would she go? The bathroom? She certainly couldn't stay in there the entire flight. Choices were limited, and she knew it. Deciding to push past and onward, she steeled herself against her emotions and turned to face him.

"So, you and Joey have any plans on what to see first?"

With an almost grateful smile, he turned to face her a bit better as well, then answered cheerfully, "He hasn't made up his mind yet, but, I think either Westminister Abbey, or Big Ben."

"You're lucky," she said with a sigh, "I'm gonna get stuck in dress fittings, and then with my parents for the whole of this trip."

"Well," he offered, "Maybe after the wedding and reception, we can duck out for a bit and catch a landmark or two."

Shrugging, she muttered in reply, "Maybe," then asked, "Does it feel as weird to you, that Rachel isn't here?"

Glancing past her and to Ross first, he answered as he reset his gaze, "Yeah, a bit. It's weird, how hard she's taking all this, isn't it? I mean, they haven't been together in a long time!"

"I think there are unresolved feelings there," she answered, then added, "And Joshua dumping her sure didn't help matters."

"He was a tool," he said with a roll of his eyes. "And, like, two dimensional. Like a sitcom character or something, ya'know? A plot complication whose only purpose is to fuck things up between the two people who are supposed to be together."

Shocked by this, she asked, "You think Ross and Rachel should be together?"

He shrugged, then answered with a question, "Don't you?"

"Sometimes," she replied, also shrugging. "But, sometimes, I think they're better as friends."

Things were hitting a little too close to home. The cabin temperature felt as if it had shot up ten degrees. Could he feel it, too? He seemed to, by how he began to fidget, breaking eye contact with her as he shifted in his seat.

Clearing his throat, a slightly pained and somewhat ironic smile accompanying, he then asked the seat back in front of him, "Do you think they'll ever be truly ok with each other again? Friends, like they used to be? Or will their past and history always be looming over them?"

What he was actually asking was obvious. He wasn't referring to Ross and Rachel at all. Shakily, she took a breath, then answered simply, "In time."

After a brief smile in her direction, he settled back into his seat, then slipped his arm onto the rest between the two of them, right up next to hers, and linked only their pinky fingers together. "I sure hope so," he whispered, and her heart lurched in her chest.

The subject was shrouded in the hypothetical about another couple, the contact he initiated far from intimate, but still her heart raced. He was reaching out to her, establishing something significant, hinting at how he wanted things to eventually be. It was unnerving and soothing, all at the same time, and it was exactly what was needed. As she interpreted it, he was essentially saying that their friendship would weather this storm. That he wasn't going anywhere, nor was he planning to cut her out of his life, because of her feelings for him.

Maybe she was wrong, but she clung to her conclusions anyway, as well as to his pinky finger, for the majority of the flight. He never attempted to pull away, even after ordering his tiny bottle of liquor from the stewardess. Instead, he held the bottle firmly in his free hand, then asked Monica for her assistance. They laughed as they struggled to get the thing open, then he tipped it in her direction as a thank you before downing the thing in near about one gulp.

When he excused himself to go to the restroom hours later, she thought that was the end of their slight yet meaningful contact. But when he returned, he hooked his littlest finger right back with hers, smiling gently at her somewhat surprised expression before joking casually that the in-flight movie looked like a snoozer. She laughed, even though it really wasn't all that funny, then they just settled back in to chatting easily about nothing of importance.

By the time they arrived at Heathrow Airport, a meal, a snack, and a short nap later, she was in a better mood than she had been in weeks. And it showed.

"God, Mon," Ross chided, "What's up with the spring in your step? Normal people drag themselves off a long flight like that!"

"What?" she asked, unable to hide her smile, but still downplaying the actual level of and reason for her happiness, "We're in England! I've always wanted to see England! You know that!"

Before Ross could answer, Joey spoke up, offering a diversion that Monica was grateful for. "About seeing stuff," he said to Chandler, flanking him as he adjusted the strap to his duffle on his shoulder, "I think we should see the Abbey first!"

Chandler rolled his eyes and shot Monica a discreet look of amusement, before muttering his approval to his excited friend. By the time he did, Ross had started in on their itinerary, but Monica only half-listened as he droned on, her mind elsewhere.

It wasn't the outcome she had hoped for, when she had confessed her love for him, but it seemed that things would be ok between them in the wake of it. If she couldn't have more, she could at least have friendship. Maybe they would even, eventually, get back to the way things were before. Thrilled by the prospect, even the mention of when the Geller parents would be arriving didn't sour her mood.

Even after Emily let it slip that Monica's own mother liked her soon-to-be daughter-in-law better, the natural high stayed. It stayed even after learning that the menu got screwed up, and the hall was being knocked down early. It even stayed despite Ross' snapping at her for suggesting to Emily that they postpone the wedding because of all the issues that kept popping up.

It wasn't until the rehearsal dinner, that she started to come down.

**XXX**

--Drink was necessary. Her mother was driving her nuts, and if that wasn't bad enough, some drunken idiot, who was presumably related in some way to Emily, then staggered over and mistook Monica for Ross' mother. It was the final straw.

"Monica, the guy was hammered, ok?" Chandler exclaimed, trying to get her to see reason. "There's no way you look like Ross' mother!"

"Then why would he say it?" she asked challengingly, sipping her scotch, attempting to numb herself against the depression she felt creeping in.

"Because he's drunk! And crazy!" he answered, then added as proof, "Earlier, he thanked me for my very moving performance in _Titanic!"_

Sighing in exasperation, she shot back, "Ya'know, it just doesn't pay to be happy for even ten minutes! Something always seems to happen, to slam you back to reality!"

A rather sad expression crossed as he stared back at her. "Since when did you become so cynical?" he asked after a moment, his eyes crinkling with concern.

She knew exactly when, but she didn't dare say it. Instead, she shrugged, then downed the rest of her brown liquor, before immediately looking for a replacement.

"C'mon, Mon," he gently scolded, turning her to face him, interrupting her search for more booze. "Drunk tonight means hangover tomorrow, and I know you don't want that."

"Since when does it matter what **I** want?" she snipped, her slightly impaired state creating a lack of restraint over her words and tone.

It was the alcohol talking and he knew it, so he took no offense, but he did take charge of the situation and insist she go back to her hotel room, then following her, to be sure she got there safely. Since she was a grown woman, he knew he had no authority over her, but he also knew her well enough to be certain, if he didn't stop her attempt at severe inebriation, she would be kicking herself come morning.

He helped her as she stumbled down the hall and towards her room, then held her steady as she uncoordinatedly groped in her purse for her keycard. "God, Mon, how much booze did you drink tonight? I only saw you slam two scotches!"

"Four," she slurred, scowling into her small evening bag; she was obviously having difficulties locating what she was looking for.

Sighing, Chandler plucked her purse from her hands, reaching in and finding the white plastic easily as he asked, "Four what? Four scotches?"

She shook her head in answer, but that set her off balance, so Chandler quickly snaked his arm around her waist to steady her before she hit the floor. "Two scotches, champagne, wine with dinner. Four," she repeated, and he sighed again as he slipped the keycard in the slot and unlocked her door.

"K, well, you're done now, right?" he asked, almost sternly. "You're going straight to bed to sleep it off?"

"Whatever," she muttered, then kicked her shoes off on the way to her bed, falling face down onto it once there. He sighed again, heavily.

She was going to wake up sore, if left in that position, her legs hanging off the end at her knees, looking as if they would like to hyperextend. The inevitable hangover was going to be bad enough. Gripping her waist, he helped her up the bed, though her assistance was minimal, then fought to tug the covers down before tucking her in. Assuming she had already nodded off, he went for the door to leave, but he was proved wrong when her quiet voice called out to him.

"Will you stay with me?"

Dropping his head, tucking his hands in his pockets, he answered with what sounded like regret, "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I'm not gonna do anything," she promised, then added jokingly, "I **can't** do anything," and he laughed as he moved slowly back towards her bed.

"You need to sleep," he told her, taking a seat beside her at the edge; she flipped over and locked eyes with him.

"Just till I fall asleep, then?" she asked, almost pleadingly, to which he nodded ever so slightly, then gently moved a piece of hair that had fallen away from her French-twist out of her face.

"Sure," he replied, then made a sweeping motion over her eyes without making actual physical contact. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Try."

She did as he asked, forcing her eyes closed, straining to keep them so, her lids fluttering with the attempt. But, soon enough, it was no longer an effort. Relaxed by the liquor she had consumed, and by his presence, the inevitable happened. She nodded off. When she came to, some time later, she bolted upright, feeling somewhat disoriented, as you sometimes do when you first wake.

Near frantically, her eyes darted about the room, searching for signs of Chandler; she sighed with disappointment when she realized he was no longer there. It almost felt as if her heart had dropped several inches within her chest, sadness and loneliness then washing over her in a wave.

How long had she been asleep? Time seemed warped or hazy to her, not only because of the time difference, though she seemed to be past the jetlag that had affected them all initially, but also due to her alcohol-induced unconsciousness.

Still a bit uncoordinated, she fumbled to find her watch on the bedside table, having put it there before the rehearsal dinner; it just didn't go with her dress, she had decided at the time. Glancing at it, she saw that it was five minutes until nine, then fought to remember if that was New York time or London time. Seconds later, she remembered setting it to London time a short while after first landing on foreign soil. She'd only been asleep for thirty minutes, forty-five at most. Chandler would still be awake, most likely, and probably back in his room.

It was decision time. With all that had happened during the flight, and with what had been said while she was drunk, a window of sorts had been opened. They had avoided talking about it since she had made her declaration of love… maybe that was why she still felt as though she couldn't move on. Maybe they needed to talk about it. But was this the time to do that?

The lingering liquor in her system was giving her a false sense of bravery. But, false or not, she wasn't about to waste the feeling by sitting around in her room. There was no way of knowing when she might have the courage again, if ever.

Then, the problem of Joey entered her mind. They shared a room. If he was there, she and Chandler couldn't very well have an open conversation, and she seriously doubted she could persuade him to go back to her room with her. Then again, maybe Joey wouldn't be there. He had been flirting pretty heavily with one of Emily's bridesmaids. Maybe he was off with her somewhere. Maybe he'd be gone for the night.

She had to at least try. Even if Joey was there, even if Chandler refused to talk to her, she would have at least tried.

Her head felt like it was going to explode. The decision was made. She took another quick glance at her watch, it showing that it was now ten after nine, then she set it back on the table and pushed out of the covers and to the edge of the bed. Testing the stability of her sense of balance, she stood slowly, but quickly realized she was quite steady. With purpose, she headed for and out the door.

**X**

--As she stared at the door, she started to lose her nerve. She wished in that moment that she had a glass of scotch in hand to give her a boost of strength. Simply knocking on a door had never seemed so difficult. Opting for a cleansing breath instead, she did so shakily, then forced her fisted hand to raise and her knuckles to meet the wood in front of her. When she heard the knob jiggle, she exhaled sharply and dropped the anxious expression from her face.

He was obviously surprised to see her. The look on his face told her that much. "Hey, Mon. What's up?"

Her eyes locked with his as she shrugged, but then her gaze slowly lowered, taking in what he was wearing. Smirking, she teased, "Cute PJs. You're really livin' it up here in London, huh?"

Smiling, slightly embarrassed, he replied, "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting company after…" He trailed off as he glanced down at his watch, then added with a subtle roll of his eyes when he realized the time, "Nine-fifteen."

Pushing past him, and his embarrassment, she asked as she entered the room, trying to sound casual, "Is Joey here?"

"No," he answered, closing the door, "Last time I saw him, he was heading out the door with that bridesmaid and a bucket of strawberries. Why?" he asked in return, facing her, but she only shrugged again and stared back at him. Eyeing her for a moment, as if trying to determine something, he finally asked, cautiously, "Are you still upset about what that guy said? Or, is this about… about something else?" The hesitation he showed in posing the question said far more than his words did.

"The second thing more than the first," she admitted, then sighed before telling him, "I think we need to talk."

Hoping to avoid her suggestion, and the inevitable awkwardness that would surely follow in its wake, he said, "Look, this has been a really emotional time for you, ya'know? And you've had a lot to drink tonight. Maybe… this isn't the best time to--"

"Chandler," she interrupted him, her eyes pleading with him, and he sighed as he dropped his gaze to the floor and his chin to his chest.

"How drunk are you?" he asked.

"Drunk enough to know that I want to have this conversation," she answered, "But not so drunk that I can't have it," she added, and he sighed again as he gestured towards his bed; an invitation for her to sit, which she did.

Stepping over slowly, he joined her, then folded his hands in his lap, asking carefully, "It's because it's weird between us now, right?"

With a sense of remorse, she nodded, then answered, "And I know it's my fault."

"Fault isn't the right word," he insisted gently. "You didn't do anything wrong," he added, but she scoffed in response.

"I shouldn't have said anything," she shot back, the irritation in her tone directed at herself. "I should've kept it to myself, like I had been."

Seemingly startled, he asked, "How long had you been keeping it? How long have you felt this way?"

"A while," she shared, "But I didn't really realize it until Kathy."

"Until Kathy… what?" he asked, confused, requesting clarification.

"When I saw how in love with her you were," she explained, "And realized then that I'd missed my chance."

"You didn't feel this way in Montauk," he reminded her, scowling at his lap.

There was a kind of pain in his tone, and in his expression, and it made her guilt soar for being the cause of it. "I know," she said, "But, that's what planted the seed, I think. It's just… it was growing so slowly, I didn't realize, until--"

"Until Kathy," he interrupted, finishing for her, and after a soft sigh, she muttered 'yeah' in response. "You said, two days later, that I would always be the guy who peed on you," he then recalled. "You said it like it was something you could never get past. What happened to change that?" he asked, his gaze still planted on his lap.

"The farther away I got from the embarrassment of it, the easier it was to put things in perspective," she answered. "It was a nice thing, for you to do that for me. I know it wasn't easy," she added, smirking when he both scoffed and laughed.

"No, it wasn't easy," he confirmed, shaking his head slightly at the memory. "Worse than peeing in that little cup at the doctor's office," he quipped, and then she laughed, too.

"Yeah, I can imagine," she mused, then added, "But, really, that wasn't the hard part. Getting past that, I mean."

"Then," he asked, almost hesitantly, "What **was**?"

"The hard part," she replied, "Was knowing how wrong it was, feeling this way about someone who was already taken."

Sighing, he told her, "I wouldn't say it was wrong. And it's not like you tried to sabotage our relationship, or break us up. You always gave me great advice—Wait." He interrupted himself, turning to face her, staring over at her intently, and with concern, though she didn't so much as glance back at him. "You were trying to help me keep her." When she nodded, though just barely, he then asked, "Why? Why did you do that?"

He was fitting the pieces together. The bigger picture was becoming clear to him, Monica could tell.

Sheepishly, she answered, "Because, I wanted you to be happy."

"Yeah," he countered, "But, it seemed to go above and beyond, especially considering your… your, um, feelings," he added awkwardly.

"I guess," she muttered, feeling every bit as uneasy as he seemed; the liquor in her system was starting to even out. "What should I have done? Given bad advice, hoping you'd take it and ruin things with her? What kind of friend would I be then, if I had?" she asked, finally braving eye contact.

He locked eyes with her for a moment, then shrugged as he looked away. "Point taken. Still," he added, "I think some people would have done just that."

"Maybe," she conceded, "But, for me, that wasn't even an option. Friends don't do that to each other," she added, "And, if nothing else, I'm at least that. Right?" she asked, looking for reassurances.

"Of course we are," he assured her. "That was never in question. I'll always be your friend," he added, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, then nodded solemnly.

"But, that's it, right?" she asked carefully, her heart racing. Why she was setting herself up for another rejection, she didn't quite understand. She just needed to be sure.

Sighing first, he somewhat avoided answering, asking instead, "This is more than just a crush, isn't it?"

Before she could reply, both of their attentions were diverted to the sound of a keycard in the lock.

"Shit," Chandler cursed, softly, then informed Monica, "It's Joey, back from his date."

The moment he entered, he seemed to be able to sense the tension. "Hey," he greeted them, scowling. "What's up?"

"Some drunken idiot thought Monica was Ross' mom," Chandler answered, stealing a glance at Monica as he offered the half-truth. Then, locking eyes with Joey, asked, "What are you doing back so early?"

Joey seemed to buy what Chandler was selling, shaking off his scowl as a slight smirk tugged at his lips. "Oh, I'm not back for good! I just came back for something. Where are all those condoms you brought?"

Rolling his eyes, Chandler answered, "In my bag over there."

His mind obviously back on the task at hand, he marched over to the dresser at the far side of the room, sifted through the bag for a moment, then produced the box with a grin of triumph before heading straight for the door with it. As he passed the bed, Chandler stood and tapped him on the shoulder.

Spinning around, looking confused, Joey asked, "What, Man?"

"Those are **my** condoms!" Chandler announced, tapping the box pointedly with his index finger.

"Yeah, so?" Joey asked in return. "It's not like you're going to use them, right?"

"That's not the point!" Chandler shot back. "They're **mine**!"

"Dude," Joey pleaded, "Don't be cruel! That little shop downstairs is closed! And, you know how it works! No glove, no love! Have a heart!"

Sighing in irritation, with only a sliver of sympathy mixed in, Chandler offered a compromise. "Fine! Then, just, leave me one."

"What for?" Joey asked, his confused scowl growing.

"It doesn't matter why!" Chandler exclaimed. "Maybe I want to make balloon-like condom animals later! It's the principle of the thing!" he added, then repeated, "Leave one, or leave the box!"

"Sheesh!" Joey scoffed, ripping into the unopened box, "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Not sure," Chandler replied, sounding as if completely serious, "Wanna crawl up there and check for me?"

Joey pulled a face of disgust, as he extracted a single condom from the box. "Not even if my life depended on it," he grumbled, then as he tossed the foil packet at Chandler, added, "There'ya go, Buddy! Go nuts!"

The moment Joey was out the door, Chandler threw the condom across the room, then turned to face Monica. An apologetic, almost sheepish smile made an appearance, then dropped as he asked, "Where were we?"

"Not sure," she lied, fidgeting as he approached. When he retook his seat beside her, she could feel her nerve slipping away. "Maybe I should go now," she suggested, shifting her weight like she was setting to stand. He stopped her by simply placing his hand over hers.

"We should finish what we started," he told her, and slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. When they locked, he said, "I think Joey cut off your answer to my question."

"What was the question?" she asked, stalling for time.

Recognizing she was nervous, himself feeling pretty much the same, he reminded her gently, "This isn't just a crush, like you said, is it?"

"I didn't say it," she said defensively, "**You** did! I just agreed with you!"

"Why?" he asked, not reacting at all to her slight irritation.

Sighing, looking away again, she muttered, "I couldn't stand seeing the pity in your eyes. When you suggested it," she explained, "I agreed, to save face."

"So, if it's not a crush, then, what is it?" he asked, his tone soft, almost as if he already knew the answer.

"Don't make me say it again," she asked of him. "I can't take another rejection," she added, tears welling at just the thought of it.

There was a long pause, before he responded. "Who says I'm going to?"

It was as if she had just been sucker-punched, knocking the wind out of her. "What are you saying?" she gasped, staring back at him with a confused yet hopeful expression.

Shrugging, glancing at her for only a moment, he replied, "You blindsided me with this. You said I wasn't boyfriend material, back at that beach house. You said it was just a crush. Yeah, I said it first, but you agreed! I'd just gotten my heart broken by Kathy… I wasn't prepared to have it broken again."

"I wasn't planning on breaking it," she whispered, the tears that were before welling finally breaking free, streaking down her face unchecked.

"I didn't know that at the time," he whispered back, and she nodded in response.

"Fair enough," she said, then asked him haltingly, almost worriedly, "So, um, what happens now?"

"I'm not exactly sure," he answered honestly, with a heavy sigh.

It was lingering all around them, palpable, but what 'it' was, wasn't entirely definable. The vibe that often accompanies the start of a new relationship? Tension from not knowing for certain where one stands? Electricity? Fear? Maybe it was all of those things, or a combination of those things between the two of them. Whatever the answer, it was the driving force behind Monica finally throwing caution to the wind. If he responded unfavorably, she could always blame the liquor. But, somehow, she didn't think he would. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Before Chandler could even fully register what was happening, Monica scooted closer to him, threw her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his, tentatively but firmly. His obvious surprise seemed to melt away after a moment, giving Monica hope, but a few seconds after that, he abruptly pulled away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a second, wait a second. What-? What-?"

Panicking, she offered an apology and an excuse before he could even create a coherent sentence or question. "I'm sorry," she said, shifting away from him, fighting to keep the dejection from her tone, "I guess I'm still a little drunk."

"You don't have to do that, Mon," he near-whispered, sighing guiltily. "You don't have to make excuses, and you don't have to apologize."

"Kinda seemed like I did, what with your reaction," she muttered sadly, shrugging; she almost wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She misread the signs, or wanted to see them so badly she only imagined them. Either way, she had her answer. Had she just ruined everything between them? Could they continue on as friends? She wasn't brave enough to ask.

"I was just surprised," he explained. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I wasn't expecting to do it," she admitted. "That was the liquor's idea."

"You seem pretty lucid to me," he countered.

Clearing her throat nervously, she said, "I guess I am."

"So," he ventured carefully, "You didn't kiss me because you're drunk, or still tipsy." It wasn't a question.

"No," she answered honestly.

It was perfectly clear in that moment. It just clicked, like the cap on a pen, and just as simple. When he shifted closer, she dared to look up at him; the expression on his face made her heart stop. Something in it was different. His eyes seemed brighter, his smile slight, yet almost seductive. She was so mesmerized by it, she didn't realize what was happening, until his lips were on hers.

There was no way this could be real. It was a dream. It had to be. Only, it felt too real to be. Felt too perfect to question it, though a tiny little niggle at the back of her brain told her she probably should.

That could wait until later, though. Later… when she would learn that Chandler's biggest issues and reasons for rejecting her had mostly to do with his own fears and inadequacies. He was concerned that her feelings were just a passing fancy, and that she would see how right she was – that he wasn't 'boyfriend material' – and that their friendship would be ruined in the attempt of 'something more'. As he explained it, he didn't want them to turn into another 'Ross and Rachel fiasco'.

She then assured him that her feelings were far more than a passing crush, and that they could learn from Ross and Rachel's mistakes and not repeat them. She also promised him that he would not become the next Kip, should their relationship, for some reason, not work out, which was also, apparently, a fear of his.

They got almost no sleep that night, spending nearly all of it talking, and making love repeatedly, until well past dawn. They topped out at seven times, before finally collapsing from exhaustion. They narrowly missed being discovered by Ross, who entered Chandler's room unannounced, just long enough to exclaim excitedly that he was getting married today. But they weren't so lucky when Joey returned to the room twenty minutes later.

Shocked and confused, Joey babbled and tripped over his words, trying to make sense of things, his frustration elevating when he was asked not to tell anyone. Chandler and Monica both tried to downplay the situation, saying that them starting a relationship was no big deal, but even Joey realized the significance, and was not easy to convince to keep quiet. After much pleading, and the offer of free sandwiches for a month, he finally, reluctantly, agreed, much to Chandler and Monica's relief.

But Joey wasn't about to just drop it after the deal was struck. Curiosity raging, he bombarded them with questions, asking the next before the previous was even answered.

"Joe!" Chandler exclaimed, interrupting him, "The details of this are our own private business, ok?"

Sulking, Joey muttered, "Fine," but then a slight smile followed.

"What are you smiling about?" Monica asked, more annoyed than curious, but Joey's smile only grew, though it seemed it was more directed at Chandler.

"What?" Chandler asked, sounding every bit as annoyed as Monica.

"Is that why you wanted me to leave you that condom last night?" Joey asked, a knowing lilt to his tone.

Chandler rolled his eyes, then answered honestly, "No. That's not why."

Joey's smile dropped, a scowl replacing it, but within a few seconds, it returned, more resembling a smirk. "Still," he said with amusement, "How much would it've sucked, if I hadn't?"

Unexpectedly, Chandler's expression began to mirror Joey's. "You think I didn't expect you to steal my condoms, Man?" he asked, then admitted, "I brought two boxes with me. One you knew about, one you didn't."

Monica laughed as she began to gather her clothes, holding the sheet from the bed tightly to her body, then she excused herself to the bathroom to get dressed, leaving the two men alone in the room.

"Dude! This is **huge**!" Joey exclaimed in a whisper, giving Chandler a congratulatory slap on the back.

"Dial it down a bit, Joe," Chandler warned in a friendly way. "We don't want to make a big deal about this. We want to keep it… low key, until we see how things go."

"But it **is** a big deal!" Joey insisted. "It's you and Monica!"

"Ok, sure," Chandler conceded with a sigh, "But, at least for a while, I need you to dial down your enthusiasm."

"In front of the others?" Joey asked, scowling.

"At all," Chandler replied after a slight shake of his head.

"Why?" Joey asked, his confusion still visible in his expression.

"It's… complicated," Chandler said, though reluctantly. "Just, trust me, ok? We're taking this slow. The last thing either of us wants is another Ross and Rachel fiasco, ya'know?"

Realization found its way onto Joey's face, then he muttered a simple "Gotcha," with a slightly lopsided grin, which Chandler seemed to find amusing, until he heard the bathroom door open, and his attention was diverted.

"I should get back to my room and start getting ready," Monica informed as she approached, her smile widening. "We're still meeting up tonight, though, right?" she asked, and Chandler nodded as he settled his hands on her hips.

"Looking forward to it," he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her softly, much to Joey's chagrin.

"Ah, man!" Joey whined, diverting his eyes and scrunching up his face, "I don't wanna see that!"

Chandler broke the kiss, smirking at Monica before announcing to Joey, "Yeah, well, get used to it, k, man? You'll be seeing a lot of it. Especially after we tell the others," he added.

"And, when will that be?" Joey asked, relaxing somewhat when the two new lovers parted, adding rather worriedly, "You know I'm no good at keeping secrets."

Laughing, Chandler shot back, "Well, get good at it! Fast!"

Pouting, with a huff of air that showed him to be irritated, Joey stomped off into the bathroom, muttering about being first with the shower.

"He's like a ten-year-old sometimes, isn't he?" Monica asked with a laugh, and Chandler nodded in agreement, before moving to gather her into his arms. Sighing, she whispered, "It's gonna be hard, keeping my hands off you today."

"Can't get enough of the Chan-Chan Man, eh?" he teased, to which she smirked back and hit him playfully. Laughing in response, he promised, "Tonight, ok? But," he added, only slightly more serious, "Maybe we should pace ourselves. If we try to pull another all-nighter," he explained, "It might very well kill me."

"And, we wouldn't want that," she whispered, almost seductively, and his smile grew as he shook his head.

The kiss goodbye was tender, but brief, and it was the perfect ending to a perfect night. Monica couldn't contain her grin, wearing it without care all the way back to her room. She was happy. Happier than she had been in a long time. Happier than she ever thought possible. The misery of the past few months seemed like a million years ago, as she navigated the hall and approached her door. Keying in, she waited until she heard the latch click, before throwing herself face down onto her bed and squealing into her pillow.

Chandler was hers, and if she had any say about it, he would remain so. Going slow was fine, as long as they were going. Even if it took years to get there, the journey would make it all worthwhile.

She had never really believed in soulmates before, until she fell flat on her face in love with her best friend.

**The end**

Author's Notes:

And, that's the end!

This fic was hard to write, but I did it for cathartic reasons. I changed some things, in order to stay true to Mondler and the 'Friends' characters, and I gave it a happy ending, because I tend to do that, but this was based off a real life scenario. A scenario that is still ongoing, in some respects, though things are getting better. Day by day.

From here, I'm going to try to get back to 'The One With The Registry's Secrets'… I can't promise how fast I can get new chapters up, though. My emotional state is a little bit all over the place, at the moment.

Special thanks to Oliver and Kristy, my beta readers, for their help and support. Love and huggles, guys!

Be sure to visit my personal webpage, which you can find the link to in my profile, for stories by me, Exintaris, and Venused that you cannot find on the fanfiction site. I also added a link to a new message board that I created, which can also be found on my personal webpage. I created it so people can review stories anonymously, but you can stop by and chat about anything you wish to! It's a ghost town over there! Please, stop by and rescue it? (smirk)

And, speaking of reviewing… thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter! Continue the love, won't you, and leave a review for this chapter?

Thanks! And MTLBYAKY


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